


Comfort

by mjules



Category: Marvel, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-18
Updated: 2006-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjules/pseuds/mjules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The comfort of control.”  Rogue helps Logan deal with the aftershocks of Hydra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a combination of a really sexy scene in my head (that made my beta go “*meep!*” when I mentioned it to her) and DevilDoll’s scans of Pulse #9 where Logan is having a (well-deserved) pity party about what Hydra’s done to him. I wanted to comfort him. Rogue volunteered to help. So here you have it. Also, **mild content warning** : This deals (very lightly) with some Dominant/submissive themes. Unless you're really oversensitive to stuff like that (and if you are, what are you doing reading fic about Wolverine?) you should be okay, though.
> 
> * * *

_**FIC: "Comfort" (1/1, Mature)**_  
 **Title:** Comfort  
 **Author:** m.jules  
 **Rating:** M for Mature - probably NC-17  
 **Summary:** “The comfort of control.” Rogue helps Logan deal with the aftershocks of Hydra.  
 **Continuity/Verse:** Kinda Comics, especially the recent Hydra arc in Wolvie’s little world. Inspired by Pulse #9.  
 **Category:** The plot is so miniscule, it could be considered PWP. Unless you’re counting psychological character development as a plot. Then maybe. And some angst tossed in for good measure.  
 **Author’s Notes:** This started out as a combination of a really sexy scene in my head (that made my beta go “*meep!*” when I mentioned it to her) and DevilDoll’s scans of Pulse #9 where Logan is having a (well-deserved) pity party about what Hydra’s done to him. I wanted to comfort him. Rogue volunteered to help. So here you have it. Also, **mild content warning** : This deals (very lightly) with some Dominant/submissive themes. Unless you're really oversensitive to stuff like that (and if you are, what are you doing reading fic about Wolverine?) you should be okay, though.

* * *

  


It wasn’t an unusual thing for Logan to disappear for long stretches of time with no one knowing anything about his whereabouts or well-being... not that much of anyone worried about his health... but something about this absence was starting to feel _different_ to Rogue. Something felt... wrong.

It wasn’t just that he’d killed, injured, maimed, or at least attacked almost every friend he’d ever made; it was that he completely vanished after he did. It wasn’t his style to do something like that and it was enough to make Rogue go looking for him. When she found him, it was worse than she’d imagined.

“Can’t do it,” he mumbled when she slipped through the door of the shady little bar and silently walked up to the shadowy booth in the back where he sat nursing whiskey, straight up.

“Can’t do what?” she asked softly, not coming any closer to him until she was more certain of his frame of mind.

“Whatever it is you want me to do. Can’t get better. Can’t get back to normal.” He tossed back a shot of whiskey and grimaced, though not, she suspected, from the burn of the liquor. “Can’t get over it.” His voice was so low it was almost a whisper, and Rogue frowned, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Logan,” she called softly, and his eyes snapped to hers, though he didn’t raise his head. “What do you need?”

“I need to never be fucked with like that again,” he said instantly, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. “I need to have my fucking head back on my own fucking shoulders. I need to be in control of my own fucking body.” He gave her a hard look over the dull gleam of empty glasses and the rim of the whiskey bottle.

She looked back steadily and her voice held an unnerving calm when she asked, “What do you need me to do, Logan?”

She didn’t know if she kept repeating his name to remind herself of who he was... or to remind him.

Something in his eyes flared then and a mirthless grin twisted his lips, shadowing his face with the evil of cynicism, the darkness of dead hopes. “You could let me fuck you,” he said bitterly. She knew he expected her to be repulsed by the ugliness he felt dripping off the corners of his soul, to retreat to safe ground and take offense at his words.

Instead, she nodded, her eyes still holding his, and said simply, “Okay.”

Suspicion crept into his expression and he arched an eyebrow at her. “What about...?”

 _What about Remy? What about your skin? What about **you**?_

She shrugged, choosing to focus on the practical and leave the rest of it out. “We’ll have to be a little careful, but it’s not impossible.”

“Rogue,” he started, shaking his head and leaning back from her a little bit.

She frowned fiercely, angry that he was backing down. She didn’t know what was causing his retreat, whether it was some sense of honor that wouldn’t die or fear for his own safety or some other, unknown quantity, but fury swelled up within her and she leaned across the table toward him. No way was she going to let him wallow any longer if there was a possibility that something she could give him would help.

“So are you gonna fuck me or what, Wolverine?” she hissed, and something in his eyes snapped. She knew she’d finally pushed him too far, and satisfaction settled over her. He needed to purge the experience of helplessness from his mind and body; he needed to choose to lose control of himself even while he was taking control of something else instead of having that choice made for him.

“You wanna go somewhere else or you want it here?” he answered immediately, and she grinned at him.

“You got a room, sugar?” she asked. There were some decisions she wasn’t willing to let him make, and sex on a table was one of them. “I’d like to not get arrested for this.”

He chuckled humorlessly and pulled out his wallet, throwing down several large bills on the table and making Rogue wonder just how much whiskey he’d ordered that evening. “Next door,” he answered, and she got up from the booth, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her hands out of sight so he couldn’t see how badly they were shaking.

She followed him wordlessly outside and over the gravel and dirt to the motel next door that was every bit as shabby as the bar had been, standing silently behind him as he let them into the room. He hesitated briefly just inside the door, while she was still hovering on the sidewalk outside, waiting for him to move so she could come in, and muttered quietly, “I want the lights on.”

He flicked the switch then and the yellowed bulb overhead illuminated the deadness of his eyes, the weariness in the lines around his mouth. She reached out tentatively, placing one hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and peered around at his face. He turned his head a little so he could see her out of the corner of his eye and then moved forward, giving her space to enter the room.

“I need to fuck you hard,” he warned her as the door clicked softly closed behind her. She nodded quietly, sensing that he also needed her not to speak. Her instincts told her that he needed to be the one completely in control, that her last decision had been made when she’d asked if he had a room and that her wordless submission would be the thing that carried him through this in one piece.

“Last chance,” he said as he came nearer, the dangerous light in his eyes growing. A thrill ran through her, a precursor to victory; there was something in him that was coming alive, the natural predator that had been so twisted and used until he’d shut it away for fear it would be used to prey on him or someone he loved.

She shook her head, letting him know she wasn’t backing out, and satisfaction settled into his expression. She knew the prelude was over even before he pinned her between his body and the door, knocking her breath out of her lungs momentarily and growling softly in her ear.

His hands roamed roughly, possessively across her body, squeezing her breasts, rubbing up her sides then back down to her hips as he shoved one of his thighs between her legs. He pressed it firmly against her and her breath hitched in her throat as her vision unfocused for a moment.

The deep growl in his chest grew louder until it was almost deafening in the small space that surrounded them. He snarled as one of his hands reached around to grab her ass, pulling her forward suddenly. She gasped as their hips met with bruising force, the buckle on his belt pressing painfully into her stomach.

Her cut-off denim shorts fell victim to his claws and she shivered as they fell away from her body, a brief curiosity as to what she was going to wear home flitting through her mind. She was wearing sheer tights, and he thrust one of his hands between her legs, rubbing firmly, as the other nimbly unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans, the material sliding down his legs with a rough whisper.

His eyes found hers and there was no question in them, no hesitation or room for her to refuse him. The hand that wasn’t between her legs came up to lay across her chest, holding her still. She froze instantly, holding his eyes steadily, without fear or pleading. The soft sound of metal sliding out of skin was loud in the quiet of the room, and she watched his face as he carefully cut open the material that covered her.

This was not how sex would be between them if he was normal, she thought. He would tease her about her lack of underwear and she would make a wisecrack of the pot-kettle-black variety, and they would be warm and easy with each other, passion and playfulness side by side. But he was not normal right now; he was damaged, and her silent trust was as much healing as she knew how to give him.

While she’d been musing, he’d rolled on a condom, and the feel of his fingers shoving her thighs apart brought her back to the present. One of his hands snaked around under her ass and lifted her even as he held himself at her opening and thrust forward forcefully. The initial pain of his entry caused her head to snap back into the door and she grimaced, moaning as her body struggled to adjust to the sudden invasion.

He was already moving, and she automatically wrapped her legs around his waist to keep herself from sliding down the door, her hands gripping his shoulders to help keep her upright. He pounded into her, and she didn’t realize that she’d closed her eyes until he forced a strained growl past his teeth in the semblance of her name.

She opened her eyes then to find him staring at her and she understood that he wanted her to keep them open. He wanted to know whose body he was taking, who was giving this to him. He wanted to know it wasn’t a hallucination, a trick being played on his mind, and though it was took concentration, she struggled to keep them from closing, to give him what he needed.

His thrusts were already sharp and quick and his mouth was twisted in a grimace as she felt him tightening in anticipation. Though her body trembled with the force of the sensation of him inside her, she was nowhere near being able to reach physical satisfaction, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t. It wasn’t the point.

His hips jerked forward and held there and a strangled snarl tore from his throat. Her hands tightened on his shoulders but she didn’t move them to his head, as much as her first instinct had been to thread her fingers through his hair and cradle him to her. This was not about gentleness; this was about him getting back power that had been stolen from him.

His breathing began to slow and she let her body relax, wincing when he slid from her and let her stand on her own two feet again. Her knees buckled slightly and he held her up with a hand on her waist, his eyes strangely alight with something that looked like gratefulness and relief. When he was certain she could stand on her own, he removed the condom, tossing it in the general direction of the trash can by the door.

A smirk tugged at his mouth and he led her over toward the bed, tugging his jeans up around his hips long enough to make the journey before he removed them along with his boots and socks. The dingy comforter was already turned down to the foot of the bed, and she smiled. He never let those things touch his skin if he could help it; she didn’t either. Already his mood was different than it had been and though she was curious, she still didn’t speak. He wasn’t as desperate any more, but he was still in control and didn’t appear to be ready to relinquish that yet.

He nodded toward the bed and she perched on the edge, scooting backwards when he indicated that she should. His eyes fell on her shirt and he said quietly, “Take it off.”

For the first time, uncertainty came into her face and she opened her mouth to protest. “I’m not --”

“Take it off,” he barked, and she clamped her mouth shut, mutely obeying. She wasn’t wearing a full body-suit and the removal of her shirt would put them both in danger. But if that’s what he wanted...

“Lay back,” he commanded, and she did so, sinking into the pillows and feeling an exposure that went deeper than simple nakedness. He picked his jeans up off the floor long enough to dig another condom out of his wallet and she realized that must’ve been where the first one came from as well, though she hadn’t noticed then.

He tossed the foil packet on the bed beside her and then crawled onto the mattress, sprawling on his stomach and pushing her legs apart and upward to accommodate him. With her knees bent and her thighs spread, he settled himself between them and looked up at her face over the curves of her belly and breasts. Still with his eyes on hers, he turned his head slightly and dragged his tongue over the inside of her thigh, the moist warmth soaking easily through the thin nylon of her stockings.

A muscle in her leg jerked and she caught her breath. A grin flitted over his mouth and he nuzzled up slightly farther, finding the tendon that stood out in her inner thigh and closing his teeth around it. He bit down gently but firmly and she couldn’t help the reflexive arch of her spine nor the whimper that broke loose from her throat.

He pulled the corner of the sheet over her leg and covered her with it, pulling it taut with his hand, and she barely had time to wonder why before the flat of his tongue pressed strongly against her through the fabric. The cloth muted the sensation somewhat, but she was sensitive already and the touch quickly had her body quivering with desire.

Just when she was on the edge of breaking her self-imposed vow of silence, he ceased, drawing back from her and letting her breathe. She took the opportunity to re-center herself, settling back into the decision not to speak unless absolutely necessary. The sheet was gone in an instant, and before she had quite managed to convince herself to open her eyes, she felt the condom-covered tip of him bumping at her insistently.

She let her thighs fall farther open in wordless permission and he pushed into her gently. She opened her eyes then and almost smiled to see his face above her, watching her intently as he began to move. He’d left his shirt on, allowing him to take her this way without killing himself, and she gave herself over to the sensations, choosing to trust him.

This time, his body was not driven towards its own release but hers, and she moaned time and again as shocks of pleasure ran through her. He lowered his face until they were so close she had trouble focusing on him and could feel his breath against her lips.

She understood the gesture; he couldn’t kiss her, but he was coming as close as he could to it, and the tenderness of the action undid something in her. He held her on the edge for long minutes, easing back as soon as he felt her tensing, waiting until she relaxed to begin moving again... and finally, when she thought she might go mad if he didn’t finish her, he started a deep, steady rhythm that brought her swiftly to a gasping, groaning release. While the shocks of it were still rippling through her body, he allowed himself to come, growling softly as he did.

When he felt her muscles relaxing, he looked up at her and gave her a half-smile without saying a word, and she understood that the second time had been his way of saying _thank you_ for the first. She smiled back and nodded, acknowledging the gesture and sending him her own _you’re welcome; anytime._

He pulled out of her more slowly this time, her flesh clinging to him until the last possible moment, and disposed of the condom. He lay stretched on the bed beside her, observing her quietly for long moments instead of getting up to clean himself off. Finally, he tilted his head, and she knew he was getting ready to say something. The time for her silence was over; he would want an answer.

“Tell me somethin’,” he commanded in a gruff voice, and she nodded. “Was that a pity fuck?”

She shook her head, and he cocked an eyebrow. “It was comfort.” She couldn’t explain more than that; she’d known he needed it, and she capable of giving it to him. It didn’t change anything about their relationship; the only thing that had shifted was that she’d proven her willingness to do just about anything for him and he’d come back a little ways from the edge. At least now when she looked in his eyes she saw Logan, not a frightened exile in the dark corners of his own mental dungeon.

The answer was enough for him and he nodded, settling in beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist, keeping the sheet between them for protection. She understood what he wanted and relaxed into the embrace, knowing that he wasn’t done taking comfort from her yet... and she was okay with that.

* * *

  
 **  
_The End_   
**


End file.
